


Hopeful Idiot

by Almadynis



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DCU, DCU Movies, Smallville, Superman (Christopher Reeve Movies), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, DC AU - Freeform, Drama, F/M, Flashback, Logic, Reality, Romance, What if this was real?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2019-10-18 13:04:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17581382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Almadynis/pseuds/Almadynis
Summary: She looked back and forth between the two photos: Clark Kent on the right and Superman on the left. Finally, after several long minutes, she exclaimed, "That's the most idiotic disguise I've ever seen!"





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

 

Knowing that _she_ would die if he didn’t do something, he pulled away.

 

“No,” the woman pleaded, trying desperately to keep holding him.

 

It was effortless for him to keep going. Less than effortless. It barely registered to him the woman’s words or her actions. He’d barely felt her touch anyway. His mind was completely focused on what he needed to do. He didn’t really have a choice. Either he did this, or _she_ died.

 

No, there was no choice.

 

So, he pulled away from the crying human female whose hair was the wrong color, already flying barely inches off the ground. Speeding toward the kryptonite-tipped lance that had oh so recently been piercing his own side.

 

The female new-comer heroine had wrapped the abomination in some sort of glowing rope. She cried out in exertion, using all her strength to hold the creature in place to the best of her ability, yanking on the other end. Yet, her feet still slid. The strength of twenty men, perhaps more, he’d estimated from his brief contact, and still she had to yield ground.

 

He saw Batman out of the corner of his eye, lining up a weapon. Being human, whatever the man had built was already as much as he could contribute to this fight. He wouldn’t last more than a second or two if he directly confronted the beast.

 

So, once again, Clark was forced to conclude that he was all that stood between this man-made abomination and _her_. His grip on the lance tightened and he pushed aside his nausea. The increasing pain wasn’t important right now.

 

A part of his mind acknowledged that pain wasn’t going to be important at all after this.

 

He sped up as much as he was able over the short distance, attempting to use physics in his favor. Inertial force. Angling himself to put as small a target facing the beast as possible, thus decreasing the surface area that would make impact, and consequently the lance tip would penetrate even deeper.

 

As soon as he hit, the monster catching all his momentum with barely a single step backward, he twisted the lance with a sharp turn of his wrist. Doing as much damage as possible in the millisecond collision.

 

He barely felt the lightning that instantly exploded out of the titan upon impact. It wasn’t important. He didn’t notice when the heroine lost her footing entirely. The cause of releasing the monster’s arms had the effect of a sharp bone lance piercing his own chest. He screamed in agony, but he didn’t lose his grip on the kryptonite lance.

 

It was _her_ face that he saw as he reached forward to take hold of a protruding spike. Her golden-red hair brushing against his face as he nuzzled her neck.

 

He yanked himself forward, drilling the bone even farther, widening his own wound dangerously. _Her_ hazel eyes crinkled in laughter. Laughing at him again.

 

His arm pushed the kryptonite lance forward even as he pulled himself up. But he didn’t see the beast. No. He saw her eyes darkening to sapphire blue in arousal as his lips found that particular sweet spot at the point of her shoulder. His teeth grazed lightly again and again, drawing such sounds from her. Sounds he craved to hear again.

 

He didn’t feel the column of intense heat exploding out of the abomination, out of the wound site, directly toward his form. Didn’t feel as the monster’s grip reflexively tightened around him in its last dying moments. No. He only felt a distant echo of its continuing presence. Barely registered the odd, new sensation of what must be broken bones, followed immediately by punctured organs.

 

Instead, he felt her soft skin beneath his fingertips. Tasted her flesh as he used his tongue to gently kiss each mole. Felt satisfaction as he successfully redirected her self-consciousness into pleading passion. Heard her moans of pleasure rise and fall with each stroke of his fingers.

 

Then… an endless sea of nothingness…

 

She wasn’t here with him. He knew that. He also knew that it was alright. Her absence, at least in this case, was just fine. He didn’t mind.

 

This wouldn’t be the first time she had made him wait.

 

.

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.               .               .               .               .               .               .               .               .              

.               .               .               .               _LIGHT!_

 

There was no warning.

 

No clue or hint of expectation.

 

From complete oblivion to an explosion.

****

**_SOUND!_**  

****

**_LIGHT_!**

 

It overwhelmed him instantly.

 

.

.

.

 

Where was he? Why did the nothingness pull at him? He didn’t like it.

 

But no…the nothingness didn’t have sound. Didn’t have light. Didn’t have cold.

 

This could not be the nothingness.

 

Which meant _she_ could be here…   He lost his battle with the pulling— _gravity_ —and was jolted sideways and downward. He landed on a surface— _ground, concrete_ —and stepped awkwardly only a time or two before he managed to regain his equilibrium.

 

He stared at the chunks of large rocks— _broken, statue, big head?—_ that lay in front of a curving, layered wall filled with chiseled names. His mind filtered the data coming through his eyes, cataloging information and reminding himself of things that had once been important to him. However, these remembered new words were not in the forefront of his thoughts.

 

Where was she?

 

Why wasn’t she here?

 

He’d waited for her.

 

He’d been patient.

 

So why wasn’t she here?

 

Had something happened to her?

 

Kept her from him?

 

Who would hold her against her will?

 

Who had the ability?

 

Sharp metallic thunks reached his ears, making him turn around. One black-haired female in a dark-toned red, silver, and blue armored outfit he vaguely recalled seeing before. “He’s back,” she whispered in a tone he couldn’t identify. He heard her clearly despite the volume she used and the distance between them. There was an older boy in a red jumpsuit. A younger man barely identifiable beneath such metal covering his body. And an older male, non-human, carrying a five-pointed trident.

 

As they made no hostile moves toward him, he simply stared back at them. However, he’d automatically angled his body to present them with the smallest possible target. Other than the woman, he didn’t recognize them. Had no reason to trust them.

 

Why was the boy smiling at him?

 

He switched through newly-remembered modes of sight. Focusing on the trident-carrying oldest male, he filtered through seeing bones, muscles, electrical impulses.

 

Where was she?

 

Why wasn’t she here?

 

He’d waited.

 

So long.

 

So very long.

 

“He’s not alright.” The oldest male stated, glancing to the side briefly before focusing on the possible threat. Smart.

 

He shifted his gaze along the line of four, rotating through visual modes. X-ray. Skeletons. Most normal, but the one on the end had metal bones. How odd.

Infrared. And some sort of radioactive central power source.

 

“He’s scanning us,” the metal-skeleton said in an odd reverberating tonality. It was either a good guess, or it had some way to detect his visual keys.

 

Was she _unable_ to come to him?

 

Who had the _ability_ to contain her?

 

“Arthur, you need to relax. You’re adrenaline’s spiking.”

 

“Because he’s not alright.”

 

“Should we bow?” the boy asked. Of the four, the boy was the most innocent. He could hear it in those few words. “Or, or show our bellies?”

 

Who’d want to hold her?

 

Who’d know her significance to him?

 

He took a single step forward, almost a challenge. Wondering what they’d do. The one with the metal skeleton began to twitch in sharp jerks as his power core began to react to the threat he posed just by standing. Smart machine.

 

“Just think happy thoughts, Victor!” the boy again. Yes, innocent. Not a threat.

 

The other three however…

 

Were they keeping her from him?

 

He tilted his body out of the way as the machine finally won its battle over the human mind and fired a plasma bolt. He turned to watch the weaponfire and saw as the stone tablet behind him shattered. Slowly, he looked back at the group.

 

His mind, for the first time since the explosion of sound and light after the endless nothingness, was quiet. It was a menacing silence.

 

_She_ would have called it ‘cold rage’.

 

“Kal-El, no!” the black-haired beauty yelled.

 

However, his rage wasn’t cold. It was an intense flame that he aimed and released; enough energy to incinerate flesh to ash. The machine blocked it; managed to angle a rapidly-generated shield and allow the turning force to push the beam away. He couldn’t stop his plasma vision before a vehicle was cut in half lengthwise.

 

“He’s confused. He doesn’t know who he is.”

 

He knew who he was.

 

Didn’t he?

 

Or was it that he wasn’t _him_ without _her_?

 

“Pet Sematary,” the boy was afraid, eyes wide behind the half-mask.

 

Yet, they were here and she wasn’t.

 

He picked up a large boulder and threw it at the woman. She wasn’t _her_! How dare this dark-haired woman be here and _she_ wasn’t?!

 

The woman almost casually deflected the projectile with a sword she drew with practiced ease. “Arthur, we need to restrain him.”

 

Oh, so they thought to hold him now? There was only one who could accomplish such a fete, and she wasn’t here.

 

Where was she?

 

He’d waited.

 

He lost several moments as his heart screamed a protest at this injustice. “Kal-El,” the woman’s voice caught his attention again, “the Last Son of Krypton.” His brow furrowed in small confusion. Krypton? Kal-El? “Remember who you are.” Such calm tones as she spoke.

 

Just like _she_ spoke sometimes.

 

Who was he without _her_?

 

How dare they try to keep her from him!

 

“Tell me who y—” He grabbed the glowing rope and yanked. The dark-haired woman cried out as she was pulled directly into his grasp. He didn’t grab her flesh—a piece of his mind yelled in protest at the idea of physically harming any female—but still held her armor in such a way as to pull her bodily off her feet.

 

He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done next, but wasn’t bothered by decisions as the others began to attack. He caught the trident with his other hand. Then the metal skeleton grabbed his biceps, trying to break his hold on the first two.

 

The boy took that millisecond to move faster than a human should’ve been able. White lightning streaked over his form as he tried to maneuver around, get behind him. To do what, he did not know, but he would not give the child a chance either. He knew he lost moments of awareness as he defended himself.

 

“Clark!”

 

He turned, attracted by the sound of a new player, then was momentarily frozen. “I know you,” he whispered. Blasphemy. Sacrilege. The first sounds he’d made in so very long…and they hadn’t been said to her.

 

This man entirely clad in black was an enemy. A powerful enemy. This one had hurt him. He took steps forward.

 

A clang as the woman landed from above in front of him. Her voice was determined, but also sad. Resigned. “Please. Don’t make me do this.”

 

A piece of his returning mind told him that this woman would never hurt an innocent. She defended the weak. Yet she was standing between him and his enemy. A man powerful enough to keep _her_ from him. A man who not only had the ability to do so, but hated him enough to hurt _her_.

 

_She_ wasn’t here.

 

It must be because his enemy held her.

 

He charged forward. She raised her forearms to block his blow, but seemed surprised when he wrenched them apart and butted his head against her own. She gave a small cry of pain, took a half-second to recover, then hit him back in the same manner even harder. He scowled at her and drove her into the ground hard enough to make her grunt again. She stayed in the resulting crater.

 

With her out of his way, he stepped and hit his enemy with such force to dent the side of the vehicle that was hit. “Alfred, I need the big gun.” He stopped the words as he grabbed his enemy around the chin and squeezed.

 

He fought against the pulling of gravity and they both rose into the air, his enemy dangling from his hand. “You did this,” he hissed.

 

“I had to.” Harsh words. Harsh timbre.

 

He was back to cold rage. “You won’t let me live.” His enemy had created a weapon with the singular purpose of ending his life. All because this black-clad human thought he was owed something. Revenge? Apparently, his death hadn’t been vengeance enough. “You won’t let me die.”

 

“The world needs you.”

 

_She_ lived in this world. Was she in danger?

 

At the very least, this enemy posed a threat to him…and to her. “But does it need you?” he growled. He pulled his enemy closer and repeated words he remembered. “Tell me… Do you bleed?” The brown eyes looking at him held pain, but not fear. He wanted his enemy to feel fear. Wanted him to know what he’d felt at those same words.

 

“Clark?” A voice. Female. Not the dark-haired armor-clad one though.

 

He turned to look as a woman hurried toward him. Golden-red hair shifted in waves down past her shoulders. Blue eyes stared at him in fear and hope. “Clark.” Her breath came in deep gulps. “Please.”

 

His brows furrowed in confusion. The hair was the wrong shade. The eyes held no green. Her voice a third too high. Who was she?

 

Why was she here, and yet _she_ wasn’t?

 

He’d waited.

 

She must have seen his expression for worry entered her voice. “Clark?”

 

His enemy must have _her_.

 

Kept her from him!

 

His brows released as he refocused on the man he held. He squeezed his fingers a degree more. He wanted to see fear in those eyes before they greeted oblivion.

 

“ _Idiot?_ ”

 

His whole body jerked, every piece of his being turning to face the new female in a nanosecond. The tone was familiar. A question. A call. A name. He knew that voice! The timbre. The cadence. Behind that one word, such emotion.

 

There were tears on her cheeks as she looked up at him. “Well? Are you coming down?” her voice broke several times.

 

Memories collided with reality and his fingers opened to unceremoniously drop the black-clad human. Now that _she_ was here, the male wasn’t important. He dropped himself to the grass directly in front of her.

 

Her smaller hand shook slightly as it came up to cup his cheek, as if afraid he’d disappear. He closed his eyes as he once again felt her touch. Smelled her skin.

 

He had gone from oblivion to sound and light…but now he had COLOR… She was the only one who gave his life color. Meaning. “Hope,” he whispered.

 

She choked on a sob, the tears having never stopped falling. Nodded. “Idiot.” So much emotion in that one word. An insult long since become an endearment.

 

“Hope,” he whispered again. Pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her. Secure. Safe. “My Hope.”

 

She held him back so very tightly. “My idiot.” She took a deep breath through her nose, breathing in his unique scent. Trying to convince herself he was really here. “Take us home, Idiot.” She softly ordered, as close to a plea as she would ever get. “Take me to bed.”

 

He gave a short soft laugh, leaning his cheek against her hair. Felt the strands caress his skin. He gently lifted them into the air. “As my queen commands.” He turned his head just so to brush his lips against hers. He groaned. The taste of her exploded across his tongue.

 

Exploded his memory…

 

++++++++++

++++++++++

 


	2. Meetings

 

**First Meetings – The Daily Planet**

 

“…show her what it means. Blue. Blue! Fucking hell in a handbasket how can you be so blind you can’t tell what fucking blue is? Damned idiots…” the voice kept going on like this, using profanity that would make his mother wash his mouth out with soap. It was an obviously feminine voice, even while it used harsh words too low to be heard by a normal human.

 

Clark followed the cussing to the small group which included his desk. “Hello?” he asked politely. The feet he had finally tracked down stopped their small movements meant to help leverage whoever was doing whatever underneath Lois Lane’s desk. “Ummm…do you need help down there?” he called in the same tone, carefully setting down his briefcase.

 

The feet – blue jean covered legs with well-used black sneakers – resumed their shuffling movements to help the woman angle her upper body, which had yet to move out from under the other reporter’s desk. “No. Thank you.” Her voice was louder in her reply. Polite, but only slightly less harsh than her cursing. “I’m just trying to fix Mrs Lane’s printer issue.”

 

“Oh.” Clark shifted his glasses higher on his nose as he continued to gaze down at the pair of feet. “Yeah, she’s been complaining about it for the last week or so. I remember. I bet she’ll really appreciate your help.”

 

“Wouldn’t need fixing if the damnedable woman did what any fucking tech told her the first damned time she asked,” back to a barely audible mutter that Clark pretended not to hear. Louder she said, “Uh huh. That’s the plan.”

 

“Hey Kent!” Lois came smiling over. Her tone filled with humor when she spotted where his attention was directed. “I see you’ve met the new IT tech.”

 

Clark nodded. “Indeed, I have. Though we’ve yet to be introduced, she has nice shoes.”

 

Lois snorted. “You wouldn’t know a nice pair of shoes if they bit you, farm boy. That’s Faith Ridwell.”

 

“Not even close you moron,” the mutter from under the desk was again too soft for human ears. “I may wear three year old shoes, but they’re comfortable, don’t make noise when I walk, aren’t annoying, and I can run in them. None of which you can say, you harridan. Shit on a shingle! How can you have three cables going absolutely fucking nowhere and another two that aren’t even supposed to be here?!”

 

“How much longer will it be, Faith?” Lois called down. “I’ve got a deadline today.”

 

Mutters, “Jesus H. Christ, she has no idea the hell that is down here. I only got here ten minutes ago! Who does she think I am, Saint Hope of the Impossible?” Louder she answered Lois, “I suggest you either borrow someone else’s computer, or go find a pen.”

 

“Pin? I don’t have a pin code for anything, let alone a computer. Unless you mean the front security door? Are there any available computers not in use?” Lois was obviously confused.

 

“P-E-N. Noun. A writing implement used to apply ink to a surface, usually paper. You could also use a pencil, though statistically pens are easier to find.”

 

Lois’ face flamed and her mouth tightened in anger. She didn’t speak for a full minute before she turned to him. “Clark?”

 

“Yeah,” he answered the unasked question and handed her a few blank pages of copy paper from the instigating printer’s drawer, as well as the nearest black pen. 

 

“I’ll be in the break room when it’s ready,” she gritted, stalking off.

 

“Uh huh, keep dreaming Lady McFuckUp.” A sigh. “God, where the hell does _this one_ go? Seriously, who did this install? I’m gonna make them watch Barney & Friends…” A pause. “Did no one fucking label _anything_?!” All of which was said under the woman’s breath.

 

“Are you sure I can’t help?” Clark asked, kneeling down to get a better angle to see who was speaking. Now that Lois was off with no chance of returning anytime soon, he didn’t feel as self-conscious in his observation.

 

“Not unless you can find me the original plans for this…mess,” she said the last word as if it were an expletive.

 

He nodded his understanding and suggested instead, “Sorry, but I can keep you company while you work.”

 

“Don’t you have your own deadline, Mr Kent?”

 

His eyebrows rose at her knowing his name, then remembered that Lois had said it earlier. Earlier by several minutes in fact. This woman could multitask well and retain information. Such was unusual enough by human standards to be notable. “I’m actually early for once. It’s no trouble.”

 

“Fine. Suit yourself. Here, hold this.” A hand came out clutching a bundle of wires, both thick and thin, with at least three different ends he could see.

 

Obediently, Clark grabbed the wires. “So, are you going to introduce yourself?”

 

A head half appeared, looking at him sideways. Her coloring was remarkably similar to Lois Lane’s, but a shade or two off. Her eyes were more hazel and her hair darker. She gazed at him for a second or two, blinking with incredulousness, before disappearing back behind and under again. Her hands had never left whatever they were holding out of his line of sight. “Hope.”

 

“How long have you worked at the Daily Planet, Hope?” he prompted after she didn’t continue.

 

“What time is it?”

 

He looked at his watch. “9:48am.”

 

“Forty-eight minutes.”

 

He blinked back at her. “Pardon?”

 

“I’ve worked here for forty-eight minutes. Officially, at least.” Her body stretched as she reached for something. “ _There_ you are you stubborn, vindictive cretin! I’ve got you now!” Her hand thrust a wire at him again, “Hold this and don’t lose it in the ones I already gave you.”

 

“Yes ma’am.” He smirked at her, amused at her in spite of the language. “I’m surprised you’re doing anything other than paperwork on your first day.”

 

“Well,” she grunted as she stretched into a tight place, reaching for something again out of her reach above her head based on what her feet were doing to help get her in the required position, “Mr. White wanted his star reporter to have her printer back. I’m currently the only IT person in the building. And HR managed to snag me when I came in at 7.”

 

He blinked. “Why’d you come in so early?”

 

“I wanted to see how much work I had ahead of me. That and to make sure I knew where the essentials were.” Her hand came back out of the desk, this time empty. He handed her the last wire she’d given him to hold. “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome,” he replied automatically. “That was the one you wanted, correct?”

 

“Yup,” she said. “Almost done down here, I think.”

 

“Nice. Lois will be happy.”

 

“I said ‘done down here’. After the cables are connected to actual places instead of thin air, I have to make sure everything is installed properly and run test pages, et cetera.” She made a small humming sound in the back of her throat. “Gotcha, you little dickens! Now screw you…and… _stay_. That should hopefully be the right connection input…” She began to butt-crawl backward, her hands coming up to feel where the edge of the desk lay in order to avoid hitting it as she rose.

 

Without the darkness of the shadows, he noticed her hair was lighter, and closer to Lois’, than he’d thought at first. Her eyes were more green than he’d seen too. He smiled at her and held out a hand. “Clark Kent.”

 

“Hope Kramer.” She dropped his hand just as quickly as she’d grabbed it; practically falling into the available rolling chair to begin messing with Lois’ computer.

 

“Out of curiosity, do you always swear so much?”

 

She glanced at him, surprised. “You heard that? Sorry.” She refocused on the screen, her right hand on the mouse and left on the keyboard. “I try to make sure it’s a low enough volume so no one hears me. It’s a way to vent frustration. Otherwise, I tend to start doing things better left to the imagination.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Erasing someone’s identity because they put a credit card in their disk drive. Uploading a virus to forever make a computer slower than an eight-and-a-half inch floppy. Cramming peanut butter into their air vent because they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Printing 72-point font signs labelling everything ‘do not attempt to fix yourself’ in capital letters. You know, the classics.”

 

He couldn’t help himself; he laughed. 

 

She smiled at him as she closed the windows she’d been using and pushed back from the desk. “Mrs. Lane should be able to print now. Please don’t attempt to fix it yourselves if it still doesn’t work.”

 

He chuckled at the reiteration. “How about turning it off and back on again?”

 

“Only if you want to push your luck, Mr. Kent.” She stood and began to walk away backwards, still smiling at him.

 

“Clark,” he corrected. All she did was nod and turn right-way around. When she finally made it around a corner, he got to his feet to go get Lois.

 

+++++++++

+++++++++

 

**Second Meetings**

 

Perry White gave a loud exclamation, drawing everyone’s attention in the immediate vicinity, right before there was a muted half-explosion and smoke began to billow from his desktop.

 

Clark was the first to his boss’s side, pulling him away from the small flames. A short, sharp exhale of superhuman force denied it oxygen long enough to go out. There was already a smell of smoke in the air, along with electrical discharge. He was surprised that the smoke alarms hadn’t come on, but was grateful. He didn’t want to be drying out the entire floor after the sprinklers came on for such a small fire. “Are you alright, sir?”

 

“Yes, I’m fine Kent. Thank you.” The man growled, understandably irritable. He picked up the phone, dialed an extension from memory, and yelled, “Kramer, get up here!”

 

“Wha--?” Clark heard briefly through the phone before Perry hung up.

 

“Are you sure you’re alright Mr. White?”

 

“I’m fine! But this damned thing just lost all of tomorrow’s layout!”

 

“Didn’t you save?” Hope asked as she entered the office at almost a run. “Or at least have auto-save enabled?” She sniffed and jerked. “What the hell happened?” It had been almost seven months since Clark first met her, but she didn’t look any different. Same jeans and sneakers. Hair in the same style as before: pulled back in a tight French braid.

 

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” He screamed at her. “It’s your job to keep these things in top shape, damn it! Now I’ve lost hours of work due to your negligence!”

 

Hope’s mouth tightened in anger as she froze, looking at her boss with narrowed eyes. If her eyes could glare daggers, Perry White would’ve been cut to ribbons. “Sir,” she said through clenched teeth, “did you back up to the cloud?”

 

“I don’t have time for that!” he retorted.

 

“Fine. I’ll do what I can.”

 

“Huh,” he snorted derisively. “You do that, Kramer. Or you’re fired!” He marched out.

 

Clark blinked, shocked by the interchange. “Did something happen between you and Mr. White?” It seemed to be an extreme reaction over something relatively small. Inconvenient, but not a firing offense.

 

He’d seen her briefly in the seven months she’d worked at _The Planet_ , but it was only the usual required pleasantries since their first meeting. While she intrigued him, he’d been too busy with one thing or another, either as Clark Kent or Superman, to take the time to have another conversation. So, something could’ve easily happened between the techy and director and Clark not know.

 

Though gossip being what it was, he should’ve still heard about it. Unless Hope was better at keeping things to herself than one would think, being a staff member of a prominent paper. Clark already knew that White was good at keeping secrets. As the editor/director of _The Daily Planet_ , it was practically a job requirement.

 

Hope visibly tried to calm as she took her place in the chair. “I apparently have ‘unreasonable demands’ regarding updating software and equipment.” Her eyes widened in shock when she saw the melted wires. “Good grief, this could’ve gotten out of hand in a hurry.” She looked up at him with an expression he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but said nothing. She pulled out a handful of bits of wire from a pocket and a Swiss Army knife from another as she focused back to the pile of mangled plastic.

 

“You came prepared.”

 

“Well, as much as he likes to yell and blame me, once I figured out he wouldn’t upgrade until things literally fell apart, I began to carry around common replacement parts and tools.” With quick efficiency, she spliced the new wires where the melted made been. Then she attempted to restart the computer. “Come on, sweetie, you can do it,” she crooned.

 

“No profanity?” he teased.

 

“Nah. It’s not the computer’s fault that Mr. White won’t listen. It’s doing the best it can with what it’s got. Just like everyone, I suppose.” He blinked at the philosophical segue as her fingers flew over the keys. “Ah ha, there we go.” A document came up, presumably the one White had been working on when the meltdown occurred. She immediately saved and transferred the file to the _Planet’s_ cloud storage system she herself had originally set up for the company. Clark had heard, and overheard, many thanking the system in the time sense its inception. If anyone knew who’d thought it up or maintained it, he’d bet Mrs. Kramer would have a lot more friends than she currently did. Making firing her an almost protest-worthy offense. However, he doubted that Hope thought in political terms like that.

 

“There! Now…what made you go nuclear?” she muttered to herself as she began to hunt through coding.

 

“Can I help?” Clark offered.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Right. Sorry.”

 

She blinked, focusing on him with a noticeable effort. Sighed. “Sorry, but finding what caused this will take a lot of concentration. Quiet helps.”

 

He smiled, indicating he wasn’t offended. “I understand. I’ll let you work.” He left, gently closing the office door behind him to block as much sound as it was capable. He doubted she noticed, having already started glaring at the screen yet again.

 

With an inward smile, he wandered to the coffee machine and decided to drop a juicy piece of gossip or three…

 

++++++++

++++++++

 

**Third Meetings**

“MRS. LANE! If you don’t stop deliberately trying to bypass my system, I’ll make you fix your own issues!” Hope Kramer’s voice yelled over even the usual din.

 

“I need it to research for my story!” Lois shouted back.

 

“You have no idea what programs are on the dark web, Mrs. Lane. Those hackers won’t even bother laughing as they melt it all down!”

 

“You’re being overly dramatic!”

 

“No, I’m being _smart_ , you _curious_ —”

 

“Woah!” Clark jumped into the middle of the two so similar appearing females who were facing against one another with postures suggestive of a real bullpen. That or an arena. “Ladies!”

 

He knew by Hope’s tone that she’d been about to cuss Lois to the best of her considerable ability, probably resulting in a loss of employment. Perry liked Lois too much to tolerate such insubordination, no matter how fast and efficient—and liked by most, if in a tertiary fashion, due to his own gossip-dropping comments—Hope had become in the year since she joined _The Planet_. He also knew Lois well enough that the reporter wasn’t going to back down, no matter what anyone said to the contrary.

 

The rest of the bullpen had stopped to watch the quickly escalating fight between two beautiful women. Clark heard one group on the far side of the room taking bets. Several were muttering about popcorn.

 

Hope continued to glare at Lois before saying in tightly controlled tones, “Will you at least let me isolate your computer from the network so that _when_ you do get a Lorainna Bobbitt virus it won’t kill the entire building?”

 

“That sounds reasonable. Lois?” Clark said.

 

“Fine! Take her side!” the woman stalked off.

 

“I’m not taking—” he sighed, cutting himself off as she never slowed. “That went well.”

 

Hope snorted derisively. “That woman is a—” it was her turn to cut herself off, glaring at the desktop screen as she set about doing whatever it was she intended.

 

He watched her for several long minutes, listening to the sharp staccato of keys. The rest of the room had groaned at the end of their entertainment and moved back to doing their jobs. So when he asked the question, he was reasonably sure only she could hear him or was even paying attention to their small corner of the room anymore. “Why don’t you like Lois?”

 

Hope shot him a quick look. “She’s an excellent reporter.” As if that explained everything.

 

“Then why—”

 

She continued, “She’s a terrible friend. Everything is always about her.”

 

“That’s not true.” 

 

“She’s curious.”

 

“That’s not a bad thing.”

 

“For a reporter. A friend should be able to not just keep secrets, but also let you keep some to yourself. Not push you and keep pushing until you tell her everything. There’s no reason for her to know _everything_ about a person just because she thinks she has the right.”

 

Clark grimaced, conceding the point. He waited. “What else?”

 

Hope glanced at him. “That’s not enough? Ego-centric. Curious to a fault. She’s also an adrenaline junkie, searching for that next big high of danger. Someday it’s going to get her killed.” She sighed, suddenly drained of her anger. “Lois Lane is an absolutely brilliant reporter. She’s married to her work. Her entire world is the news. Which means she’s leading on that poor bastard, and I doubt he has a clue.”

 

Clark blinked at her. “Which poor bastard?” Lois had many admirers, but most had figured out that she wasn’t interested and had gone searching elsewhere for romance. The only one left was…

 

“Superman,” Hope said as if hearing his thoughts. He froze in shock. The whole world was aware of Lois Lane’s relationship with Superman, due to Zod’s interference, but most hadn’t thought there was more than a passing acquaintance once the first article came out saying such.

 

She sighed again as if answering a question. “I know. Sometimes I’m not sure if she even realizes what she’s doing to the guy.”

 

“What… What do you mean?” the words almost came on their own without his thought or approval.

 

“Think about it. When do you see Superman with Lois?” They both knew the answer: when he was rescuing her.

 

“That doesn’t mean that’s all they do together.” Clark countered.

 

“True, but when does Lois talk about Superman? It isn’t ever anything mundane. That they hung out one night watching movies or went to Paris to watch fireworks or something similar. No, it’s always what he did for her; helped her with her next story, or agreed to another interview, or rescued her from whatever situation she’d gotten herself in to last.”

 

Clark’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

 

“Lois Lane doesn’t dream about growing old and settling down. I doubt she thinks that far into her future. She’s the best at what she does because it’s her passion. Which also means she’ll likely die young while doing what she loves. Which is great for her, but terrible for her family and friends. I pity the man who marries her, because it’ll probably take him years before he realizes the truth, if he ever does.”

 

“Which is?” his voice was a bare whisper.

 

“That he’ll always be second-best. He’ll never be her first priority,” Hope glanced at him and grimaced. “I know that I’m a minority in my opinion about the woman. Feel free to ignore me.”

 

Clark had nothing more to say. _Couldn’t_ say more. Instead, he settled at his desk and spent the rest of the day staring at his computer screen. Thinking about her words. Words which rang too close to the truth for comfort.

 

And as much as he wished to deny them, no matter how much he wracked his eidetic memory through all their encounters could he recall a single instance to contradict those words.

 

++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++

 

 


	3. Introducing Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope's perspective and the first email

**Introducing Hope**

 

Hope Kramer was under no illusions about how she was perceived by others. She thought they were idiots and they thought she was an asshole. All in all, Hope thought it worked out quite nicely as both groups held a mutual nonverbal agreement to leave each other alone.

 

It was part of why she made a living via a field where very little interaction with others was required. She’d done it deliberately. When she was forced into contact with the rest of humanity, Hope tended to swear. A lot. (To her credit, she did try to do it under her breath so none could hear. Though sometimes she was more successful than others.) It wasn’t good for her health (either mental or physical).

 

Due to a glowing review from a former employer which spelled out what excellent service Hope could perform, as long as she was left alone, (The recommendation had actually used much more flowery language expounding on how all she’d been given was an overall goal and Hope had done the rest with very little supervision required. It amounted to the same thing.) she’d been able to work up to her current employment for _The Daily Planet_ at double her previous salary.

 

She just hadn’t realized that she would be the I.T. specialist for the whole damn building!

 

Which brought her to her first day at her new job, where right after Human Resources had finished filing paperwork, Hope had been directed to the editor-in-chief. It had gone something like this:

 

_“You’re the new tech?”_

_“Yes sir. I’m Hope Kramer.”_

_“My name is Perry White. All your paperwork has been filled out?”_

_“Yes sir. I just finished.”_

_“Good. Your first assignment is to fix Lois Lane’s printer.”_

 

It started out innocently enough. She was yelling (quietly) at cords that went to nowhere and generally having an actually nice conversation with one of her new coworkers. Which in and of itself was an amazing occasion to call home about! He actually seemed to sincerely want to help and gave non-moronic comments (at least so far) when she peeked her head out from under Ms. Lane’s desk to introduce herself.

 

He sat in the rolling chair that belonged to the cubicle next to Ms. Lane’s. His hair was black in a professional-casual style that covered the tops of his ears. He wore thick black-rimmed glasses, in a rounded-square that were large enough to touch his cheeks and eyebrows. They shaded his eyes so well that it took her several heartbeats to realize his eyes were blue. But it wasn’t his hair or glasses or eyes that made her pause.

 

It was his smile. That was a smile to weaken a girl’s knees! Dimples on both sides, a small cleft chin, but it was _real_. It reached his eyes, crinkling the skin around them.

 

Hoping to hide exactly how flustered that smile made her, she pushed back under the desk before she remembered that he’d asked her name. She tried desperately to refocus upon the task at hand, devoting most of her brainpower to finding where cords went and led. (While a piece of her mind was expounding on how might his lips taste.) The rest of her decided to answer her coworker as she would her brother. As if he had a brain and could be useful if directly properly. (If she saw him as her brother, that would mean he wasn’t kissable. Shouldn’t kiss your coworkers!)

 

However, waaay too soon for her thought processes, she’d theoretically fixed the cords and needed to get back out from under the desk. Facing the man that she absolutely wasn’t going to kiss. She wasn’t. Nope. Nada.

 

“Clark Kent,” he introduced with that smile.

 

She grabbed his hand automatically to shake as per etiquette, and felt an electric spark. “Hope Kramer.” She was quite proud of herself that her voice didn’t waver or change. She also dropped his hand like a hot wire as soon as was deemed acceptable. That smile could be a secret weapon!

 

“Out of curiosity, do you always swear so much?” he asked, amused.

 

Her eyes flicked to him in abject surprise. It was her first day. She’d made _sure_ that her comments wouldn’t be heard. Otherwise her first day would also coincide with her last. Or…she thought she had. “You heard that? Sorry.” No blushing. That was cliché. “I try to make sure it’s a low enough volume so no one hears me. It’s a way to vent frustration. Otherwise, I tend to start doing things better left to the imagination.” Had her grammar diminished? Seriously? All she needed was a nice smile and her elocution went out the window? That was just sad.

 

“Such as?”

 

“Erasing someone’s identity because they put a credit card in their disk drive. Uploading a virus to forever make a computer slower than an eight-and-a-half inch floppy. Cramming peanut butter into their air vent because they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Printing 72-point font signs labelling everything ‘do not attempt to fix yourself’ in capital letters. You know, the classics.”

 

He couldn’t help himself; he laughed. 

 

_Good God in Heaven! That laugh should be illegal!!!_ It was genuine. That was what she liked so much about it. She dealt with idiots and fakes so much that his lack of either was refreshing. She smiled back at him, trying not to blush or stammer or any other horrible clichés. “Mrs. Lane should be able to print now. Please don’t attempt to fix it yourselves if it still doesn’t work.”

 

He chuckled lightly, not offended at her reminder. Instead, he made a joke. “How about turning it off and back on again?”

 

“Only if you want to push your luck, Mr. Kent.” She had to leave quickly or she would make a fool out of herself, she knew it!

 

“Clark,” he corrected. All she did was nod and turn right-way around. When she finally made it around a corner, she had to stop at a near wall and get her breath. That grin and accompanying laughter still echoing behind her eyes.

 

Hope made a resolve to stay away from one Clark Kent as much as possible. Otherwise, she might get a citation submitted to Human Resources for sexual harassment…

 

**One Month Later**

 

Hope frowned at the picture of Superman in the _Daily Planet_ headline. It was a three-quarter full-body shot. The angle wide enough to get his cape flowing in the breeze, his levitation obvious in the angle of his feet.

 

Something about it bothered her…but she couldn’t put her finger on why.

 

Before she could do much more than mentally note the occurrence and start to attempt to pinpoint the source, her phone rang. “I.T.” she answered.

 

_“Kramer!”_ the voice of Perry White came over the line, _“Lane’s printer is out again!_ ”

 

Hope groaned low in her throat. “Yes sir, I’ll be right up.” Would that woman _ever_ listen to her on what NOT to do?

 

**The Next Month**

 

Hope stared at the photograph. It was a byline, barely more than a blurb really. Superman was smiling at the camera. It wasn’t a genuine smile. She didn’t blame him. Apparently, the photographer had pulled a paparazzi while the guy was working with homeless kids.

 

**Six Weeks After That**

 

This one was a three-quarter head-shot. Superman was looking over the last of the cleaned up remains of his fight with General Zod. It was finally all done, which was what the article had centered on (that and how Superman had helped to clean up the mess he’d help create).

 

The photographer had managed to wait and got a glimpse of a real smile on the alien’s face. She could see the crinkles at the corner of his eye as he surveyed the finished rebuilds.

 

She frowned at the photograph. Something about it…

 

Looking back at the other photographs of Superman she’d noted as being odd, she noticed they were all by the same guy. Jimmy Olsen. Maybe she should talk to him…

 

Then she looked closer, realized what she was seeing, and began to curse. “Bloody, stupid, fucking hell! You _moron!_ ” Taking quick action, Hope began to type a strongly worded email to a distinct individual.

 

_To: CKent@DailyPlanet.net_

_From: Resinded@You_reAMoron.edu_

_Heading: NSFW – Did You Think No One Would Notice?!_

 

_Dear Idiot,_

_Seriously, did you think no one would notice?! That has got to be the most IDIOTIC disguise I’ve ever seen!!! How could you think that parting your hair differently and wearing glasses would be enough to throw people off?!_

_Since Superman is obviously the more showy of your two identities, Clark Kent is easier to manipulate with the least amount of suspicion. Thus, consider the following to better your disguise:_

_I) Clothes_

_Wear baggier clothes. Clothes that do NOT highlight your obvious muscles, which are clearly defined in the Superman costume. I’d suggest at least two sizes too large for your frame. But fitted to your arm length and ankles so as not to get too much notice. Again, goal is to fade into the background and differentiate your frame from Superman’s._

_Also, get pads for your shirts to offset how wide your shoulders really are. You can show off Clark as wider shoulders_

_You also want to pick colors that are dingy, dirty, and just plain drab. Browns, tans, grays. Black goes well with your hair, so stay away from that. The intent being to NOT draw attention. Stay away from strong colors, even if they do compliment your eyes. That’s not the point. Compliment your eyes when you’re on a date, not when at work around NOSY REPORTERS, you **IDIOT** **!** _

  _II) Glasses_

_Get better disguise glasses. The ones you’ve got are nice for your bone structure. They highlight your eyes well. You need bulky frames that shade your eyes, as they are a very distinguishing feature. Save the glasses you’ve currently got for date night, not around NOSY REPORTERS, you **IDIOT** **!**_

_III) Tattoos_

_One thought I had was for a temp tattoo on an inside wrist or ‘hidden’ at the neckline that Clark could wear. Easily removed for fast transition, if need be, but since no one would think of it being so fast removed, it’d help. Being the Fastest Man Alive, I think that would be easy for you, but every little bit helps. That, and as long as the light doesn’t hit it just right, most people take temp tattoos as real ones, if seen from a distance. Superman, obviously, can’t wear one, but Kent could._

_Conclusion:_

_Most people only see what they expect to see. However, you are surrounded by NOSY REPORTERS, you **IDIOT** **!!!!!** Including that you WORK WITH ONE **DAILY!!!** The nosiest, actually. It won’t be long that she figures it out, if she hasn’t already. She’s good at her job. _

_If you want to remain as anonymous as possible, then please consider my suggestions._

_Sincerely Concerned for Your Ability to Reason,_

_Hoping You Aren’t an Idiot and It’s Only Temporary Insanity_


	4. Emails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the emails begin!

 

Clark blinked at the email sitting innocently in his work inbox. He read the subject line twice, wondering, before giving up and turning to his desk partner, “Lois, what does N.S.F.W. mean?”

 

She looked over at him, needing a couple seconds to switch mental gears. Then she grinned broadly. “Not Safe For Work. You got a girlfriend?” Her voice was friendly with a touch of suggestive. It still made the innocent farm boy flush. She eagerly hoped from her chair and rounded to peer over his shoulder at his computer screen. “Huh. ‘Did you think no one would notice’? Odd for a subject line. Do you recognize the sender?” Her reporter senses were tingling, eyes narrowing in focus.

 

“No, but I don’t think ‘Rescinded at You Moron dot e.d.u.’ is a real email address.”

 

“You never know,” she shrugged. “It could be a new anonymous source, trying to get your attention.” Anonymous sources were common to two types of people: police and reporters. Both required them to do their job effectively. “Click it. Let’s see what it says.”

 

Obediently, Clark tried. Instead of the expected email, a popup box appeared. Highlighted in large bold red letters were the words

 

TARGET EMAIL CURRENTLY UNAVAILABLE

 

ONLY AVAILABLE AT SECURED I.P. ADDRESS

 

“Huh,” Lois tilted her head as she contemplated the popup. “Well, that’s a new one.” She leaned so that she could peer into his eyes without shifting her position, meaning her eyes were less than six inches from his own. “If this is a new A.S., he’s tech-savvy.”

 

Clark was understandably flustered at his partner’s nearness. “Yeah!” he practically squeaked, scooting his chair backward hastily. Lois was quite beautiful, and he was a male with a healthy sex drive. (The fact he wasn’t human was beside the point, as he had grown up around humans and adopted the human standard of beauty as his own. That, and he had no idea what the Kryptonian standard of beauty or desirability could be.)

 

She flashed a smirk at his discomfort, as if it were good fun, then went back to her desk. “You can try on your home computer. If that doesn’t work, I’d call that… _woman_ ,” she hissed the word as if it were a curse, “down in I.T.”

 

“Good idea, Lois. I’ll do that,” he quickly assured her. An angry Lois wasn’t pleasant to be around and the workday had just started.

 

Lois’ grin at his obvious unease at her nearness made him think of ‘that woman’s comment. _“She’s a terrible friend. Everything is always about her.”_   That smirk suggested she enjoyed embarrassing him… Was it malicious?

 

While he understood that Lois knew the appropriate social rules and boundaries, she approached their use as a sniper would a bullet: a tool to eliminate a target. Though she usually pretended to care better during work hours, or with friends, her general personality relaxed around Clark, thus showing how little social constructs bothered her.

 

Clark sighed, pushing his musings to the side. He had work to do right now.

 

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

 

Later that day, Clark pulled up his email on his personal home computer and clicked on the offending email. He began to read, “Dear Idiot…” He blinked, startled. He kept reading. “Seriously, did you think no one would notice.” He muttered the sentences without retaining the emphasis of the exclamation marks. He still understood. “That has got to be the most idiotic disguise I’ve ever seen. How could you think that parting your hair differently and wearing glasses would be enough to throw people off?”

 

He scrolled down and surged forward in his seat as his mind fully registered the picture that was attached below the paragraph. It was two images, one of Superman and the other Clark Kent. Both were taken at the same 3-quarter angle, and several areas had been circled and connected to each picture. Showing the perfect correlation. “Good God,” he breathed. He thought his mother would forgive his blasphemy in this instance.

 

He scrolled down again, dread in the pit of his stomach. However, instead of threats of money or blackmail or anything else that his mind conjured in the two seconds it took to turn the wheel, there were suggestions on how to make his disguise better. Well, his Clark Kent disguise better. Even going so far as to explain the logic behind each suggestion.

 

He blinked again as the salutation tied in with the signature section.

 

As long as he ignored the foul language, expletives, and various grammatical email yelling, it was actually very helpful. Thoughtful. Kind, even. It seemed rather genuine, caring whether he continued his work as Superman.

 

So, after a brief internal debate, he began to compose a reply.

 

_Dear Hope,_

_Thank you for sending me your thoughtful suggestions. While a tattoo would be impractical at this stage, as Clark must change into Superman at inhuman speeds, I greatly appreciate your other ideas. Do you have any more?_

_I would also like to ask about any suggestions you may have regarding my partner. So far, she seems rather oblivious to what you say is obvious. Are you sure that the connection you have made is as clear as you think?  What are the chances of others making this same correlation? I recognize the pictures you used for your demonstration. Each was printed in different editions, months apart. Did you save each edition of The Daily Planet for reference? Or perhaps you noticed the similarities by happenstance?_

_I am not saying you do not have a point, but the method by which you acquired this information could be significant._

_Also, how secure is this reply method? Perhaps we should meet in person to discuss this incredibly sensitive information._

_Sincerely,_

_The Idiot_

 

 

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

 

Hope blinked at the email waiting for her the morning after she sent the rather scathing diatribe on Superman/Clark’s choices of disguise. She did have a brief pause of panic at his salutation, but then remembered how she had signed her own. He didn’t know who she was, he was just using a one-word condensed form.

 

“Well, he got the signature right,” she muttered as she began again.

 

_(I am not calling you ‘dear’ anything.)_

_Idiot,_

_You’re a moron. You actually REPLIED without knowing if it was a secure email??? Are you out of your mind? Seriously, I’d like to know if the supposed “american hero” is bat-shit insane. I think that’s a significant detail. (Of course, one could make the argument that anyone who goes into burning buildings without regard to his own life is, in fact, crazy.)_

_Yes, this email is secure. If anyone cracked this code, then a lovely little virus would be left in their system, which would increase the threshold for fan temperature. Resulting in a ‘spontaneous’ meltdown from overheating. Then just look for whatever agency bought a new supercomputer (for it would TAKE a supercomputer to crack my firewall. No, I’m not being arrogant.)_

 

_As for the pictures. Do you really want to take the chance that I only noticed via coincidence? Really? How dumb are you? You went to all the trouble to hide Clark Kent, so obviously that means you care about having a social life to some degree. Who would want to be Superman all the time?_

_Personally, if you truly want my REAL advice, I’d tell you to scrap Kent entirely and start from scratch with a new identity. One with a wig, moles, birthmarks, and all sorts of other things that would make it highly unlikely to connect the two. And get a different job. Reporters are NOSEY, by profession and passion._

_However, I highly doubt you’ll be willing to go that far with hiding your human identity. So, my previous emailed comments stand. As for the tattoo being impractical…oh well. At least you were smart enough to consider it, then discard it for logical reasons. Congrats you get ONE brainy point. To earn more, please use that thing between your ears more often._

_Oh, and I don’t appreciate you denigrating my own intelligence. It’s YOUR idiocy on trial here, not mine!_

_Sincerely Are You Going To Continue Being A Moron,_

_Hoping Not_

 

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

 

_Dear Hoping,_

_How did I denigrate your intelligence???_

_Idiot_

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

_Idiot,_

_You suggested that I would meet you in person, you moron. You are LITERALLY faster than a speeding bullet and you’re called the Man of Steel (how many pairs of pants did you go through during puberty? ;-P ). Why would I get within touching distance of you? In fact, why would I tell you what STATE I live in?_

_Hope_

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

_Dear Hope,_

_Ahhh, I understand your reasoning now. Sorry. It wasn’t my intention. I truly was worried about the safety of the emails. In person, I could be better assured of our correspondence. My hearing is extremely sensitive. I am able to hear any heartbeat within a mile, well beyond the range of any parabolic microphone._

_And you live in Metropolis. Why else would you be so interested in me? Or have access to Daily Planet photos so readily. Metropolis is the city in which I do the most “american hero” work. Q.E.D._

_My mother would like you to know that I went through 6 pairs of pants during puberty. She is very practical and instead of buying new jeans every week, she got extremely good at repairing crotch seams at night while I was sleeping. (She claims that she bought 56 sewing machine needles, but that it was still cheaper than buying new jeans.) She also appreciates your ability to make me blush and would like me to convey to you how much she welcomes any suggestions you have. Apparently, you’re good for me…though she was a bit vague on expanding the reasons she thinks so. You are to meet her in person as soon as you are comfortable with the idea._

_I’d like to thank you as well. I haven’t seen my mother laugh so hard in years._

_Sincerely,_

_The Idiot_

 

Hope blinked at the email. “He…told his mother about me?” And she not only approved of her, but wanted to meet her? She blinked again. “What… What does this mean?” If he was any normal boy/man, she’d think it was a precursor to dating. Or more like the middle-cursor to dating. But…he wasn’t human. And wasn’t he the only non-human on Earth? Was he raised on Earth by human parents? Does that mean he wanted to DATE her?

 

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

 

Clark was getting nervous. It had been almost one week since he'd heard from Hope, when they usually replied the very next day. Did someone find her? (His mother was certain that they were female. She said the syntax was purely feminine in its insults, and that only a girl could be so complementary while yelling.) Was she injured? Did she get into an accident? Was she on vacation? Was she nervous?

 

+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++

 

_Hope,_

_Are you alright? It’s been three weeks._

_Please, contact me. Just let me know that you’re okay. My mind has been rolling with all sorts of possibilities, including car accidents, bank robbery, vacation, and kidnapping._

_I’m worried._

_Idiot_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, all mistakes are mine.  
> Please let me know what you think, but don’t be too harsh. I know its not perfect.  
> Comments are love!

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Superman (or any DCU) fanfic I've written. Please comment with your thoughts. What did you like, dislike (constructive criticism please), should I continue, etc.


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